


maybe it's lust, maybe it's love (maybe it never ends)

by obsceme



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Bottom Billy Hargrove, Choking, Come Eating, Come as Lube, Dirty Talk, Gay Billy Hargrove, M/M, Marathon Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Self-Lubrication, Sex Pollen, Shameless Smut, Steve Harrington Exploring His Sexuality, a pinch of fluff sprinkled in throughout bc i have no self control, also billy sort of knows about the weird shit steve gets up to, he doesn't like...KNOW...but he knows, ya know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 17:23:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18529684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsceme/pseuds/obsceme
Summary: Steve groans, shoving his fingers through his hair, trying to figure out just what in the fuck he’s supposed to do. Not only did he inhale some poison or toxin of some kind that has made him more painfully horny than he can ever remember being, but now Hargrove is standing in front of him, hard as a rock, looking like he’s liable to start beating one out in the middle of Steve’s bedroom at any given moment.“Got any ideas about how to solve this?” Hargrove asks after a moment, clearing his throat uncomfortably.Steve turns his eyes back to him, clenching and unclenching his fists. “I have no idea,” is all he says.(or: the one where Steve and Billy accidentally inhale some magic dust and suddenly find it virtually impossible to keep their hands off of each other.)





	maybe it's lust, maybe it's love (maybe it never ends)

**Author's Note:**

> title is from take a byte by our lord and savior, janelle monáe. happy 4/20, here's 10k words of good ol' downright filthy smut, i won't even bother pretending like it's anything other than that. of course, there's some fluff sprinkled in here and there, because i just can't ever seem to help myself, heh

_Tap. Tap - tap. Tap. Tap - tap._

Massaging his temples, Steve resists the urge to turn around and yank the stupid pencil from Billy Hargrove’s hands and toss it across the room. He doesn’t need an extra hour of detention to be tacked onto the two that he’s already had to suffer through.

“Would you cut it out?” Steve asks through gritted teeth, glancing over his shoulder.

Hargrove sneers at him, only increasing the tempo of his incessant pencil-tapping.

After that, it takes a significantly greater amount of self-control for Steve to not just snatch the pencil and snap it in half, or just say fuck it completely and stab the insufferable asshole in the hand with it.

Steve can’t help but feel rather bitter about how much the universe must fucking hate him. Dealing with Hargrove during regular school hours is far more than enough quality time together, in his own personal opinion.

But clearly, some higher entity must really have it out for him, considering that Steve is not only being forced to stay after school for an unreasonably long detention, but he also has to ride out the shittiness with the _one_ person who consistently manages to get on every single one of his nerves.

With graduation looming ominously in the very near future, Steve had honestly been finding it harder and harder to concentrate on much of anything going on around him, itching to be out of Hawkins and on his way to figuring out just what the hell he’s going to do with his life.

Despite this, Hargrove still manages to be the one thing that pulls his focus, getting so far under his skin that he seems to have made a home there. It puts Steve into a state of perpetual irritation throughout every passing second of the day.

Not even the closeness of his first real taste of freedom could provide him with enough strength to ignore the other boy. Billy Hargrove truly is like an unpleasant wart that refuses to go away, irritating the ever-living fuck out of Steve every chance he gets.

Nancy had commented on the immaturity of it one day, comparing Hargrove’s favorite pastime of infuriating Steve to a little boy who deals with a crush by pulling the girl’s pigtails on the playground. Steve had been all too quick to shut that conversation down, the implications of her statement too much for his brain to handle at that moment. Or any moment after that.

Because if Steve acknowledged it then he’d also have to acknowledge the fact that sometimes, he really doesn’t mind the attention, and honestly, the outlet for his anger. So much so that on the days Hargrove ditches, it feels as though an integral part of his daily routine is missing. And Steve doesn’t know what to make of that.

So he bottles it up and stuffs it down deep inside, pointedly ignoring it and letting the irritation consume him, because let’s be honest here, it’s easier to stay angry than it is to face the truth.

At the very least, it’s helped Steve somewhat understand the endless reserve of aggression that Hargrove carries with him at all times. And the longer their feud has gone on, the easier it has become for Steve to match that aggression, the truth buried so deep underneath the lie that Steve has fully allowed himself to forget it.

Things are easier that way. Hating Hargrove is safe, it makes sense, and it’s familiar. It makes him feel a lot less like the ground is shifting wildly beneath his feet.

Steve doesn’t realize that he’s jiggling his leg rather aggressively until he feels something bounce off the back of his head. He looks down to see the pencil rolling to a stop next to his foot, then whips around to glare at Hargrove.

“Quit fuckin’ twitching,” Hargrove hisses under his breath, hitting the steel toe of his boot against Steve’s chair.

Nostrils flaring, Steve opens his mouth to snap at him, but their gym coach at the front of the room beats him to it.

“Alright, _cut it out_ , both of you,” he chastises, then looks at his watch with a sigh. “I’ve got to tell you both, I’m getting pretty damn sick of dealing with you two. So do me a favor and stay the hell away from each other from now on, got it? Now, just get the hell out of here.”

“Not a problem,” Steve grumbles. He stands and slings his backpack over his shoulder before practically bolting out of the room.

The sunshine has all but disappeared, though the remnants of the day’s sunset are still lingering in the sky. Steve digs in his pocket for his keys as he walks up to his car, then opens the door and tosses his bag inside. He frowns when he sees a small black pouch resting on the passenger’s seat. Steve looks up and narrows his eyes at Hargrove, who’s halfway across the lot, climbing into his own car.

He snatches the pouch off the seat and marches over to the Camaro that Hargrove looks ridiculously good sitting in, a thought that only serves to further irritate him. Steve strides up to the driver’s side door and gives the window two sharp raps.

“Congratulations, you managed to not to get on my goddamn nerves for approximately two whole minutes,” is all Hargrove says when he rolls down the window.

Steve just shoves the pouch in his face. “I don’t know what shit you’re trying to pull, but stay the fuck out of my car.”

Hargrove glares, first at Steve’s outstretched hand, then directly at Steve’s face. “The hell are you talking about, Harrington?” he asks, scowling. “What, you think I carry a purse around with me like a fuckin’ queer?”

“I don’t fucking know, do you?” Steve huffs, mostly just to annoy the other boy even further.

“Screw off, Harrington, or I’ll break your fuckin’ jaw. Again.”

Hargrove’s scowl has only deepened, and he slaps Steve’s hand away. Though he misses Steve’s hand almost completely, the black pouch taking the brunt of the smack instead. A thick cloud of some sort of glittery black dust is released from the bag just as Steve is about to start bitching again. He inhales a big gulp, instantly beginning to cough violently.

He’s doubling over as he wheezes, and with his head hanging between his legs, he can see Hargrove stumble out of his car from his upside-down view. The other boy is also coughing wildly, using his hands to try to clear the rest of the dust out of the air.

“You’re such an ass -” Steve begins before he’s overcome by another coughing fit. When he rights himself, he glares at Hargrove and finishes, “hole.”

Hargrove looks almost bewildered, struggling to regain his breath. “ _You’re_ the one who shoved the stupid shit - which isn’t even mine, for the record - in my face like a goddamn spazz.”

“Because you _broke into my car_ , the fuck? What’d you think was gonna happen, moron?” Steve asks, his voice rising steadily. “And don’t even try to fucking deny -”

He cuts himself off, nearly doubling over again, his head suddenly feeling like there’s a construction crew hammering away at it. A more than uncomfortable throbbing has started in his gut, and it radiates out further with every breath he takes. Steve wonders for a split-second whether they’d just inhaled a bag full of poison, or something even more deadly.

But Hargrove’s face doesn’t change, seemingly unaffected by whatever has already crept its way through Steve’s system. “You look like you’re having a stroke,” he comments, giving Steve a strange look.

“I have to go.” It’s all Steve says before he bolts back to his car, dropping the pouch onto the ground as he runs.

A moment later, he’s peeling out of the parking lot. He knows he’s driving dangerously fast, but, well. Whatever reaction his system is having, he most certainly does not need to be having it in the school parking lot, especially not in front of Billy fucking Hargrove. That would most certainly be a recipe for disaster, Steve thinks.

Though it’s getting harder and harder to think about much at all. Trying to use his brain at the moment is about as easy as trying to walk upstream in a fast-moving river. Steve feels hot all over, and when he catches sight of himself in the rearview mirror, his skin is blotchy and red.

At first, Steve feels sweet and syrupy and delightfully warm, but then it radiates through him, accompanied by an almost agonizing burning sensation. It makes him feel itchy all over, like he wants to crawl out of his own skin as he speeds down the backroads to his house. He struggles to get enough air into his lungs, feeling like he’s slowly being suffocated. He doesn’t get any relief from the hammering in his skull, either.

Steve squirms in his seat, his pants growing tighter. Which, like… _what_?

He looks down, groaning at the bulge straining against the zipper of his jeans. He’s overcome with this irresistible urge to touch himself, so he squeezes his aching cock through the thick material, feeling his blood pulse as his hand makes some sort of contact with his throbbing member. It makes his abdominal muscles clench, the fingers of his other hand trembling as they grip the steering wheel.

When he pulls up the driveway a few minutes later, Steve is beyond relieved to see that his father’s car is missing and all the lights in the house are turned off, signaling the absence of his parents. He throws his car in park, not caring in the slightest that it's nearly diagonal. He quite literally throws himself out onto the pavement, taking in big gulps of the cool evening air.

It makes Steve feel a little less like he’s burning up, enough so that he can stumble into his house and get the door shut before he’s practically shredding his pants in his haste to get them off. He’s harder than he’s ever been, and when he yanks off his underwear, his cock bounces heavily.

Pre-cum is leaking from the flushed, engorged tip in a steady stream. He wraps a hand around himself, crying out in relief, and when Steve gives himself a firm stroke, the breath whooshes from his lungs. Every atom in his body seems to be amplified, and he has to get himself to his knees before his legs buckle out from under him.

He’s releasing loud, wanton moans into the still, quiet air of the foyer, fucking himself into his fist. Normally, having to jerk himself off leaves Steve feeling bummed and honestly a little lonely, but right now, nothing has felt more exquisite than his length thrusting up into his tight grip. Steve feels his muscles flexing as he gets closer and closer to the edge.

“ _Ohmyfuckinggod_.” He’s stroking himself with a choppy rhythm, desperate for some sort of relief. It never comes, only mounts, and Steve honestly feels like he wants to scream because he’s pretty sure if he doesn’t cum in the next half a second, he’s going to explode. A broken cry escapes his lips, and even though he’s alone, he’s still audibly begging for release.

Steve wonders fleetingly if this is how they torture war criminals. It would certainly be effective, Steve thinks, because this is the most pain he feels like he’s ever been in. No amount of stroking his length brings him any closer to the orgasm simmering just beneath his skin.

He stills his hips, keeping his hand firmly around his dick, grappling for some sort of composure. He can’t help but wonder if Hargrove is feeling as miserable as he is. Steve had inhaled the majority of the dust, but he knows that the other boy was nearly suffocated by it too given that he’d practically coughed up his lungs the same way Steve had.

Another wave of bitterness sweeps through him when he realizes that Hargrove is most likely experiencing the same symptoms as him, but on a much more mild scale.

Because, honestly, how the _fuck_ is that fair?

Steve glares up at his ceiling, every puff of his breath sharp and ragged. His whole body feels like it’s pulsating, waves of pleasure-pain raging through him with a vengeance.

There’s absolutely no way he can imprison himself in his jeans again, but he can’t keep jerking himself off on the floor next to his parent's front door like some sort of sex-crazed maniac. So he crawls up the stairs on his hands and knees, thanking the heavens once again that there’s no one home to witness his current situation.

By some miracle, Steve makes it to his shower, dragging himself into the tub and the letting icy-cold water rain down on him. If nothing else, it helps him cool down, slightly easing the burning sensation that has settled in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t know how long he stays there, his shirt and jacket that he hadn’t bothered to remove getting drenched.

When Steve finally feels closer to normal, he shuts off the water, standing slowly on shaky legs. He struggles to peel off the last remaining layers of his clothes before tossing them into a heap on the floor with a wet smack. Dry clothing sounds ideal, but his brain tells him that it’s just not possible. So he opts for a towel, patting himself dry before fastening it loosely around his waist.

He opens every window in his room to let in the chilly autumn air and turns his fan on high. His hair is still wet, and his teeth begin to chatter despite the heat beginning to rise in his chest once again. Steve groans, flopping back down onto his bed. He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Steve knows he needs to at least call Hargrove, make sure that he’s not like, dead or something. Not that that would necessarily be a bad thing, but having Hargrove die of horniness immediately after leaving their joint detention - which had been a result of them trying to practically murder each other while playing basketball - might look somewhat suspicious.

But, because everything in the fucking universe is conspiring against him, he realizes he doesn’t have Hargrove’s phone number. He’ll have to physically go over there, and the thought alone is honestly _agonizing_.

“You need to put on clothes,” Steve mutters to himself. Everything inside of him cries out in protest. “Get it the fuck together, Harrington, Christ.”

He’s tugging on a pair of boxers, trying to position his swollen length comfortably, when he hears a loud crash coming from outside his window. Steve freezes, then snatches his robe off of his desk chair and wraps himself up in it, trying to hide the massive tent in the crotch of his underwear.

He creeps over to the window, peering out into the darkness of his backyard.

“Seriously? You couldn’t use the fucking door?” Steve snaps, glaring down at Hargrove, who’s lying flat on his back after falling from the wall he’d been trying to scale up to his room.

“Sorry for trying to be polite and not wake up your fuckin’ parents,” Hargrove gripes, sitting up and brushing the dirt off of his hands.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Does it look like anyone else is home? God, you’re such a fucking asshole, you know that?”

“Would you quit being a whiny little bitch and come let me in?” Hargrove huffs. “And quit harping at me like a fuckin’ chick.”

Steve honestly considers just closing his windows and letting him suffer outside, but something that throbs uncomfortably in his gut has him racing down the stairs, swinging the front door open and ushering Hargrove inside.

The other boy looks eerily similar to Steve. His skin is blotchy and glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, and his breathing is short and irregular. If he didn’t know any better, Steve would assume Hargrove’s disheveled appearance was a result of his failed attempt at scaling the side of the house.

But of fucking course, Steve knows better. He _hates_ that he knows better.

“Like I said, no one’s home,” Steve tells him, watching Hargrove’s eyes flicker around the house. He then leads him up to his bedroom, sitting down on his bed while the other boy lingers just inside of the doorway.

“Nice digs,” Hargrove comments, shifting uncomfortably.

Steve feels his pain, literally. Keeping himself in a seated position is significantly more uncomfortable than standing, or being stretched out on his bed. “Guess I know why you’re here,” he says bluntly, scratching his head.

“‘S not just me, is it?” Hargrove asks, and for the first time ever, Steve thinks he sees the barest hint of fear reflected in his eyes.

“Nah,” Steve sighs, his shoulders slumping. “I’ve been, uh…feeling it too.”

Hargrove folds his arms over his chest, crossing the room to lean against Steve’s desk. For the first time since his arrival, Steve fully takes in Hargrove’s appearance.

He’s jittery, unable to sit still, and his fingers tap an uneven rhythm against his ribcage. His normally immaculately styled curls are mussed and out of place, giving them a sort of windblown look. And there’s an unmistakable bulge in his pants. Hargrove looks like he’s struggling just as much as Steve to not fit himself into his hand and go to town.

But Steve can’t help but zero in on the other boy’s eyes, which are red and glassy. “Wait. Are you _high_?” He asks incredulously, narrowing his eyes.

Billy snorts. “What’re you gonna do? Call the cops?”

“Yes, Billy, because that sounds like a really fucking great plan at the moment,” Steve grouches, gesturing wildly to the bulge in Hargrove’s jeans. “I just…did it help? Like, at all?”

He watches Hargrove suck in a breath, just before their eyes meet again. Then he shakes his head.

“Shit.” Steve tries to ignore the heat still licking its way through his body, the droplets of sweat slipping down his spine, and the incessant ache in his dick.

“Worse, actually,” Hargrove admits, and for the first time, Steve notices the tense way that he’s standing, as if he’s clenching every muscle in his body.

Steve groans, shoving his fingers through his hair, trying to figure out just what in the fuck he’s supposed to do. Not only did he inhale some poison or toxin of some kind that has made him more painfully horny than he can ever remember being, but now Hargrove is standing in front of him, hard as a rock, looking like he’s liable to start beating one out in the middle of Steve’s bedroom at any given moment.

“Got any ideas about how to solve this?” Hargrove asks after a moment, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

Steve turns his eyes back to him, clenching and unclenching his fists. “I have no idea,” is all he says.

“Don’t you like, deal with weird shit on the regular?” the other boy asks, unconvinced. It’s now his turn to look frustrated, his cheeks tinged pink.

Steve huffs out an aggravated laugh, shaking his head wildly, then says, “oh, sure, because it’s very likely that I’ve snorted some magic sex dust before and have the fucking antidote lying around in my medicine cabinet.”

“Christ, Harrington, I’m not the one who walks around with a bat full of nails in his fuckin’ trunk,” Hargrove snaps, his face screwing up in irritation. “No need to be a dickhead.”

“ _You’re a fucking dickhead all the time_!” Steve explodes, nearly ripping the hair out of his head. He points an accusatory finger at the other boy and continues, “so honestly? Fuck you. I think I’m allowed to be a piece of shit just _once_ , after all the shit you’ve pulled, you insufferable fucking _douchebag_!”

The next few moments are very, very silent, almost painfully so. Then, Hargrove is laughing, and it’s the kind of laugh that works its way through his whole body until he’s practically vibrating from it.

“The fuck is so goddamn funny, Hargrove?” Steve asks, his frustration only mounting.

“Nothing, nothing, it’s just,” Hargrove says once he sobers, then pauses to consider his words, his expression souring. “‘S just a really cruel fuckin’ joke, is all. Of all the people in the goddamn world that I could be suffering through this shit with, it had to be Steve fuckin’ Harrington.”

“You say that like this isn’t all your fucking fault in the first place, dipshit,” Steve snaps, gritting his teeth.

Hargrove gives him a heated look, before pushing himself off the edge of the desk and crowding himself into Steve’s space. “The fuck are you talking about? You were the fuckin’ idiot who -” he’s saying, but suddenly breaks off in the middle of his sentence.

Both of their eyes are trained on Hargrove’s finger, which he’d been stabbing into Steve’s chest with every word. The small point of contact honestly seems to sizzle. It’s scorching, and Steve can’t stop the whimper that tumbles from his lips.

The feeling from earlier is back; the hazy, deliriously intoxicating waves of lust crashing through him even stronger than before. And in all honesty? It _hurts_ , the intensity of it making Steve’s head pound.

Hargrove looks like he feels it too, but there’s a residual fear in his eyes that has him pulling back his finger slowly. Steve’s hand shoots out of its own accord, clamping down on his wrist.

“Don’t.”

More silence. The sound of their labored breathing is the only thing that fills the room, both of their gazes trained on Steve’s hand. When Steve finally meets Hargrove’s eyes, it’s unmistakable. Hargrove is _scared_. Steve might even go so far as to say he’s downright fucking terrified.

Steve can’t say he blames him. The touch is making the blood rush in Steve’s ears, the waves of heat crashing through him, but it’s also a sweet relief from the torturous arousal he’s been consumed by. His mind is foggy and all he knows is that he needs more _,_  but Hargrove has to be willing to give it and if he isn’t, then Steve thinks he might actually keel over and die.

“What is this?” Hargrove finally asks, his voice barely a whisper. His eyes are still focused on Steve’s hand.

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says, “but I think we have to, um…”

“No,” Hargrove says immediately, shaking his head so hard that Steve is almost worried he’ll break his neck. “No fucking way.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Steve snaps, releasing Billy’s wrist. His arousal is momentarily replaced by a more familiar emotion: irritation. “Could you at least fuck off then so I can…fuck, I don’t know, take care of this myself?”

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Hargrove practically growls.

He turns back to Steve’s door, not looking back at him as he makes his exit. Steve can’t help but curse in frustration, his muscles twitching as he tries to hold off on touching himself until he hears Hargrove leave. But the sound of the front door opening never comes, so Steve heaves himself off the bed with an irritated grunt, marching over to the door.

Steve nearly faceplants directly into Hargrove’s chest. He opens his mouth to start bitching again, but suddenly Hargrove’s lips are on his and his mind goes completely blank, everything inside of him singing at the feeling. Hargrove licks into his mouth, grabbing fistfuls of Steve’s ass in order to yank him closer until he’s pressed flush against him.

When Hargrove rolls his hips, Steve thinks he might black out. “Hargrove, I -” Steve pants out after they break apart, but the other boy cuts him off.

“Billy. You’re going to call me Billy, or I’m out of here, got it?”

Steve nods so hard that he feels his neck crack. “Yeah, okay. Billy. Got it.”

The voice of reason inside his head tells him that Billy probably wouldn’t leave even if Steve called him a dumbass the whole time, but the voice calls from a distant, faraway place in his mind and Steve really couldn’t care less. Especially when he feels Billy’s hand cup the bulge in his boxers and give a rough squeeze.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Steve hisses, his hips jerking up into it.

He can’t help but note how _good_ the size of Billy’s hand feels, the sheer strength of it. He thinks it would possibly feel just as good even without the influence of the mystery dust. The thought makes Steve dizzy, and he tries not to dwell on it.

He’s being manhandled, Billy walking him backwards to the bed before shoving him down. And Steve can’t complain, he wouldn’t dare. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would be worth Billy getting up and leaving right now.

And look, it’s for his health, alright? Stopping could give him a heart attack, or a seizure, or _something_. It’s the only justification Steve can make, that he _has_ to make, to prevent himself from spiraling completely. Facing the reality that he’s enjoying himself, and probably still would be if the mystery dust wasn’t part of the equation, is a bit much to wrap his mind around, especially given his current state.

Steve is now flat on his back, Billy hovering over him, their lips never breaking apart. The intensity of the kiss has Steve’s head spinning. But the moment he feels his robe being removed, he freezes.

“We can figure something else out,” Billy says, stilling his hands. “We don’t have to -”

“No,” Steve cuts him off quickly. “I just…I’m trying to get my head around it, alright?”

The other boy considers this, keeping his gaze trained steadily on Steve. “Look, it’s just something we have to do, right? ‘S not like we’d be doing it otherwise. You don’t have to make this deeper than it really is.”

“Right,” Steve agrees, nodding aggressively. “Right. We have to. Otherwise, it’ll get worse. Presumably.”

Then he’s threading his fingers through Billy’s curls, pulling him back down to seal their lips into a desperate kiss. He feels the other boy grind his hips down, and Steve is nearly whimpering from the sensation of the rough denim sliding against his barely-concealed length. Billy helps him finish getting out of the robe before going to work on his own clothes.

Steve can honestly say, from a purely aesthetic viewpoint, that Billy is attractive. He’s lean, though built with hard, well-defined muscles, and his skin is soft and perfectly smooth. He’s not hard to look at, that’s for sure. It almost makes Steve a little self-conscious. He’s always been proud of his physique, but in comparison to Billy, he feels like he’s soft, even a little boyish.

If Billy is disappointed by what he sees, he’s very good at hiding it. There’s actually a sort of hunger in his eyes every time the other boy looks at him, and it makes Steve feel warm. Billy adjusts himself so that he’s straddling Steve’s thighs comfortably.

“I’m going to touch you now,” Billy informs him, his hand hovering over Steve’s boxers.

Steve nods, then hisses as his boxers are tugged down, the cold air washing over him. And what happens next will probably give Steve nightmares for the rest of his life, from the sheer humiliation of it.

Billy takes his cock into his hand, gives him two firm strokes, and Steve cums almost instantaneously. His back arches off the bed, the feeling of his release thundering through him hard enough to make his vision white out.

“Jesus, _fuck_!” Steve shouts, clawing at the comforter and shuddering with the force of his orgasm.

When he can finally breathe again and his heart no longer feels like it’s going to explode from his chest, the realization of what just happened dawns on him. His cheeks heat up, feeling a little more than mortified.

“Well that was…quick,” he mumbles, hiding his face in his hands. “I don’t know what that was all about. I…uh, sorry.”

Billy hasn’t said a word, or made any sort of sound in general, so Steve sneaks a peek at him through his fingers. There’s a look of wonder on Billy's face, maybe even fascination, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Been told I have magic hands,” he says softly, looking down at the mess drying on Steve’s skin. “Feel better?”

Steve bites his lip. The tension has lessened significantly, but when he looks down, he sees his cock is still at full hardness, and the desperation for release is still there, itching just under his skin. “A little bit. But I don’t…I don’t think it’s over yet.”

“You think you can go again?” Billy asks, blue eyes watching him carefully.

“Several times,” Steve tells him honestly. Because it’s true, he feels like he could probably cum a hundred more times and not be satiated, though that’s probably mostly just the dust talking.

Billy captures his lips in another heated kiss, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and biting down. Steve moans into it, his cock twitching eagerly. The near-painful arousal is mounting once again, and he can’t help himself. He reaches down to shove Billy’s underwear down his legs as far as he can, then pulls him flush against him.

In the next moment, he takes both of their cocks into his hand, stroking them both at the same time. The noises Billy makes in response are absolutely sinful, his eyelids fluttering shut.

“Feels so fucking good,” Billy whines, his hips bucking up into Steve’s grip. The feeling of his cock catching on Steve’s own feels like pleasure in its purest form, and it has him tilting his head back, deep, broken moans spilling from his lips.

“God, you’re so fucking…” Steve trails off, readjusting his grip before continuing, “so fucking _big_.”

When Billy’s hand comes down to join Steve’s, the moment spirals into a sort of frenzy. They’re both fucking up into the tight grip of their hands, cocks rubbing together with a delicious friction. Billy’s dick is practically weeping, sweet little droplets of pre-cum dripping from the tip and slicking their hands.

Steve has never experienced something so downright _filthy_ or deliriously hot, and he loses himself in the feeling. It’s almost as though the dust has gotten him to release all of his inhibitions, ripping a constant stream of words and noises out from within him, completely subduing his apprehension and anxiety towards the current situation.

He’s fully losing himself in Billy, and it feels fucking incredible.

He’s never been the type for ‘vanilla’ sex necessarily, but he’d always been a more reserved lover, never letting himself go completely, keeping everything, for the most part, reigned in.

The girls like it better that way, in Steve’s experience. Getting too dirty, too wild or kinky or loud, only served to make the girls he’d take to bed uncomfortable, their faces burning with shame. But with Billy, Steve feels like he’s at his most primal and animalistic, everything he’d ever felt the need to hold back spewing out of him at once.

“Fuck,” Billy pants, his hips stuttering, “gonna cum.”

“Yeah?” Steve breathes, squeezing his hand around their members just a little tighter. “Cum on my cock, Billy, come on. Make a pretty fucking mess for me.”

That’s all it takes for Billy to tip over the edge. His eyes screw shut and he cries out, his whole body tensing as he spills himself over their hands and Steve’s dick, still jerking his hips up into the heat of their joined palms. “Can’t fucking stop, holy shit,” he moans, his mouth dropping open.

Steve doesn’t let up, instead using his hand to stroke both of them in time with their thrusts. He feels like he’s burning up, like his skin is on fire, but it’s so, _so_ good and he just can’t stop.

“‘M so fucking close, _fuck_. C’mon, fuck my fist, baby, that’s it,” Steve babbles, his free hand coming up to tangle in Billy’s hair. He pulls their mouths together, although moaning into each other’s mouths is all they can feasibly manage at the present moment. “Want you to cum all over me. Give it to me, baby, make me your dirty little whore.”

“Christ, princess,” Billy chokes out, pulling back so he can look down and watch their cocks slip between their fists.

Hearing the word _princess_ falling from the other boy’s lips makes Steve cum again with a strangled shout, arching his spine and tossing his head back. He feels the warmth splattering over his stomach and chest, his toes curling.

“Fuck, it’s so fucking good, Billy, _you_ feel so fucking good,” he cries out, his chest heaving. “Don’t stop, _please_ don’t fucking stop.”

“You look so fuckin’ good like this,” Billy praises, drinking in the sight of the boy beneath him hungrily. “So pretty. Love seeing you covered in my cum, sweetheart.”

And then Billy finds his own release again, a moan that honestly sounds closer to a growl coming from deep within his chest. He spills himself in thick ropes, soaking their hands and adding to the mess covering Steve’s torso. The noise of their cocks sliding together is wet and sloppy and it’s the only sound Steve honestly thinks he wants to hear for the rest of his life.

Their movements start to slow as they try to steady their breathing and calm their racing hearts. Steve releases the grip he has on himself, batting Billy’s hand away.

He’s overly sensitive and spent, but somehow he’s still achingly hard, his dick swollen and flushed red, shiny from the cum slicked over his skin. The sight of it really only drives him even more wild, his mind racing.

“How am I still hard? Jesus,” Billy mutters, sitting back on his heels, Steve’s legs slotted between his.

Steve can only shrug unhelpfully, his brain still a puddle of mush. He drags his trembling fingers over the pools of white coating his stomach and chest, then lazily pops them into his mouth, sucking them clean with a satisfied hum. He's aware that he’s lost all sense at this point, but he feels boneless and warm, intoxicated by the pungent scent of sweat and sex filling the air.

He’s still playing with the mess of cum that’s slowly growing cold and tacky over his skin, his breath slowly returning to normal, when Billy makes a noise that almost sounds like a whimper, starting to squirm on top of Steve.

“Steve, I think I…” he trails off, shifting so that the cheeks of his ass are resting on Steve’s left thigh. Then Billy is grinding down, so hard that Steve can feel his pucker rubbing against him. And he’s _wet_ , practically drenched, his hole flexing against the muscles of Steve’s thigh.

“Oh my _god_ , let me feel you,” Steve groans, pulling Billy forward so that he’s draped across his chest, exposing his ass to the chilly air.

Steve dips two fingers between his cheeks, testing the waters. He’s more than pleased by what he finds. Billy’s hole is dripping with arousal (Steve can’t help but note that it’s similar to the way Nancy would get when his hands would start working their way under her shirt), and he’s far more loose and open that Steve would’ve anticipated, had he been thinking about Billy’s asshole at all.

Which, up until he’d gotten his fingers on it, he hadn’t been.

“Been playing with yourself like a naughty boy, huh?” Steve comments, positioning his mouth directly over Billy’s ear so he doesn’t miss a single word.

“Not - not today,” Billy gasps, and Steve’s brain quietly takes note of the specificness of ‘today’, wondering just how often Billy fucks himself open when he’s alone. “Must be the…whatever this is.”

Steve is all but mesmerized, circling his finger lightly over the slackened ring of muscle. “Want to fuck you,” he murmurs, resisting the urge to get his fingers inside of the other boy without his explicit permission.

“I didn’t - fuck, stop moving your fingers for a sec,” Billy orders, and Steve stills his hand. “I didn’t bring any condoms.”

“I’m clean,” Steve supplies, rather quickly. He tries to backpedal. “But if that’s, like - if it’s not cool, I get it.”

Billy’s breath is still coming out in short, rapid bursts, his hips canting backwards, searching for Steve’s fingers.

“I am too,” Billy informs him, his eyelids fluttering shut. It seems like it’s taking all of his willpower not to just sit down on Steve’s dick and ride him to Texas. “But you’ve, uh - you don’t know if you really want to do this. This shit, it’s making us fuckin’ lose it.”

“Want to,” Steve mumbles, grabbing two generous handfuls of Billy’s ass, reveling in how perfectly the cheeks fit in each of his hands. “God, I want to. I want to fuck you open until you’re screaming my name, want to feel it when you cum. I want to fill you up so fucking full, Billy, ‘til all you can feel is me.”

The look on Billy’s face is first shocked, but then his eyes are darkening with lust. He remains silent for a long stretch, as if he’s evaluating their current situation from all angles before making a decision.

Then, his head gives a small nod, and his eyes meet Steve’s. “Well, hop to it, then,” he demands, flashing a smile that’s all teeth.

“You - you’re sure?” The words tumble out of Steve’s mouth in surprise.

Billy shimmies further up Steve’s body, pressing his lips up to the shell of Steve’s ear. “Give it to me - fuck me until I can’t fuckin’ walk,” he purrs. “Show me what you’ve got, pretty boy.”

And Steve _wants_. He wants it so fucking badly that he can’t help himself, he flips them so that Billy is on his back and Steve is hovering over him. He moves back to give Billy some room, then tells him, “flip over. Hands and knees.”

The other boy quickly obliges. Steve runs his hands over the curve of Billy’s ass, before dipping down and sucking a bruise onto one of the cheeks. Billy hisses, a tremor running through him.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” Steve coos, sliding his palms over the backs of his thighs. “Tell me how to make you feel good.”

“Finger me,” Billy gasps, coming down onto his elbows to rest his forehead on his arms. “Want you to make me cum on your fingers, then I want you to fuck me into the goddamn mattress.”

“Your wish is my command,” Steve smirks, and then he’s pushing two fingers inside, slow and with purpose.

Despite the minimal resistance to the intrusion, Billy is still tight and warm, the excessive lubrication allowing Steve’s fingers to glide in easily. He’s able to bury them in down to the knuckle in one smooth motion, and he marvels at the feeling, his cock jumping.

Billy emits a low, broken moan, pushing back onto the fingers buried inside of him. Steve can’t help but wrap a hand around himself as he learns how to work Billy into a frenzy.

He watches his fingers disappear into the hole stretched around them, fascinated by the way he can see every time the other boy clenches or flexes around him. Billy’s hips are pushing back to meet Steve’s fingers, and Steve knows he’s close to something that Billy desperately needs. He searches, trying new angles and rhythms.

“What do you need, Billy? Come on, baby, show me,” Steve coaxes, releasing his cock to grab onto Billy’s hip as he scissors his fingers inside of him.

“Fuck, curl your fingers when you pull ‘em back,” Billy directs him, spreading his legs a little wider. “Like you’re trying to tell me to come here, but just - oh, _fuck_ , just like that."

Billy’s whole body twitches as Steve crooks his fingers, a desperate moan escaping his lips. It’s a noise that Steve wants to hear again, and again, and again. So he sets a pace that makes the boy’s toes curl, curving his fingers on every outstroke.

Billy’s wetness drips all the way down Steve’s arm, nearly to his elbow, but he can’t find it in himself to be disgusted by it, like he should be. Instead, Steve’s dick literally throbs, aching to take the place of his fingers.

When Steve moves to wrap his hand around Billy’s length, his hands are swatted away. “I want to like this,” Billy pants.

So Steve slips in a third finger, practically drooling at the sight of the other boy’s pretty hole being stretched wide around his fingers. He can’t help but lean forward to taste, tonguing the other boy’s rim lightly.

Billy gives a strangled noise of appreciation, and Steve hears him suck in a sharp breath when he wriggles his tongue inside next to his fingers.

“You trying to kill me?” Billy asks, his laugh coming out as more of a gasp. “Fuck, that’s it, princess, open me up with your tongue. Bet you’d eat me out so good, Stevie, with that pretty fuckin’ mouth.”

Steve strokes his tongue over Billy’s hole as he fingers him, drinking up every available drop of his arousal greedily. Billy’s words go straight to his cock, the burning sensation spreading through him again. He lets out a broken whine, shifting to rut against the other boy’s leg as he stretches him open.

“Can’t wait to bury my dick in your tight little hole,” Steve groans, grinding his hips into the meat of Billy’s thigh. “Gonna fuck you so deep, make you fucking cum all over yourself until you can’t anymore.”

He circles his fingers around Billy’s prostate as he talks, and then Billy’s whole body tenses up as he cums with a shout, his hole fluttering around Steve’s fingers. Thick ribbons of cum spill onto the sheets beneath him, and Steve’s name keeps falling from his lips like a broken record. Steve drinks it all in, his dick pulsing with need.

He reaches down to stroke Billy, pumping the last few spurts of his release into his hand, using it to slick his own cock as he slips his fingers out of Billy’s hole. He’s still drenched, but Steve leans down anyway, letting his spit drip into the other boy. Then, he’s lining himself up with the hole that’s gaping prettily, sliding himself home in one deep thrust.

“ _Motherfucker_!” Billy cries out, his arching his back. “You fill me up so fucking good, baby, c’mon. Fuck me, princess, make me cum on your cock.”

And then Steve is thrusting into him, hard and deep, sliding in and out with ease. He fucks him slow at first, just watching his cock sink into Billy’s hole with wide, awestruck eyes.

Steve thinks, fleetingly, that it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. He wishes he had a camera so he could take a picture, never wanting to forget how Billy looks stretched around him.

“Harder, Steve, _please_ ,” Billy whines, his hips snapping back to meet Steve’s languid thrusts. “Fuck me like you hate me, fuck me like you _mean it_. Want to be your pretty little cockslut, Stevie.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve moans, shifting his hips to find a better angle. “You’ve got a filthy fucking mouth, you know that? I should give you something to clean it up with.”

Then, he wraps an arm around Billy’s middle, yanking him up so that his back is pressed flush against Steve's chest. He thrusts his cock up into the other boy’s wet heat hard enough that the sound of their skin slapping together echoes throughout the room. He wraps one hand gently around the base of Billy’s throat, using the other to slip his fingers between his lips.

Billy sucks on them with purpose, and Steve can feel the vibrations of his barely-contained moans. His hand tightens around his throat, not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough that he hears Billy’s breath catch.

“Choke me,” Billy pants around his fingers, one hand grasping onto Steve’s ass, helping him to stay balanced as he pistons his hips.

It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but with Billy’s hole gripping his cock like a vice and his tongue working over Steve’s fingers like they’re a fucking lollipop, Steve is so turned on that Billy’s request is basically the sexiest thing he’s ever heard in his life.

Thankfully, he’d had a brief fling one summer with a girl who had a thing for choking, so he can call upon the lessons she’d given him on how to do it the correct way, without causing real damage or discomfort.

Steve tightens his grip on Billy’s neck, his mouth sucking a nasty bruise directly under his ear. His next thrust strikes Billy’s prostate head-on, drawing a guttural moan from the other boy.

It’s hot and rough and downright obscene, and Steve can’t help but acknowledge that it’s the best sex he’s ever had in his fucking life. He can say with absolute certainty that he would stay buried inside this boy forever if he could.

It doesn’t take long before Steve can feel Billy’s hole start to clench around his length. He tightens his grip on Billy’s neck, cutting off the blood supply as he angles his hips to strike his prostate with every stroke. “I want you to cum for me, come on. You’re so close, baby, I can feel it. Can you do that for me? Can you be a good boy and cum for me?”

Billy releases a high-pitched, drawn-out whine, his flushed cock spurting in thick stripes over the sheets. His face is a brilliant, beautiful red, his mouth dropping open and his eyes rolling into the back of his head. The force of it makes his whole body shake, and Steve just fucks him through it, whispering delicate praises into his ear.

“You’re doing so good for me,” Steve hums, removing his fingers from the other boy’s mouth and moving them Billy’s abdomen, relishing in the feeling of the muscles he finds there shifting under his palm. “You look incredible like this, all fucked out on my cock. Can’t stop fucking looking at you.”

He releases Billy’s throat a second later, licking and biting a bruise over the spot where his thumb had been digging in. Steve hears Billy take a harsh, shuddering breath as he grinds his hips in slow circles, dragging the tip of his length over Billy’s prostate.

“I don’t think I’ve ever - _fuck_ , ever came that hard in my fuckin’ life,” Billy gasps, holding fast to Steve’s hips for support. “You fuck me so good, better than anyone I’ve ever been with.”

The praise is pure bliss, making Steve's cock pulse. He can feel the tension coiling in his belly, just as Billy shifts forward, sliding off with a wet pop. Steve whines pitifully, his hips thrusting up into the empty air. But then Billy pushes him onto his back, swings his legs over his hips, and sinks down onto Steve until his dick is buried inside of him to the hilt.

Watching Billy ride him is almost surreal. His curls are wild and unkempt, some sticking to the sweat glistening on his forehead, and his cock bounces, smacking his belly in time with the motion of his hips. He’s staring at Steve through those long fucking eyelashes of his, pupils blown wide, his cherry lips parted and glossy with spit. Both of his palms are resting on Steve’s chest to balance himself, gyrating his hips down with a steady rhythm.

“Fuck, baby, I’m close,” Steve whimpers, holding Billy’s hips in a bruising grip. “I want to fill you up so fucking badly, fuck you with my cum still inside of you.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Billy grunts, grinding his hips down with expert precision. “Give it to me, sweetheart, fill up my pretty little hole. It’s so open for you, so fucking ready for it.”

It’s all Steve needs to hear. His orgasm rips through him like a punch to the gut. He holds Billy’s hips steady, fucking up into him roughly, allowing the tightness flexing around him to milk him dry. “ _Billy_ , oh fuck, _fuck_ ,” Steve cries out, emptying himself inside of the other boy.

He can see the cum starting to leak out of Billy’s entrance, coating Steve’s cock in a thick layer with every thrust of his hips. In a heated frenzy, he manhandles Billy onto his side, falling behind him and plastering himself against the other boy’s back, keeping his dick buried inside of him to prevent the cum from spilling out.

Steve hikes one of Billy’s legs up, then resumes thrusting into him, their eyes locking when he turns his head. It’s electrifying, Billy’s lips parted sinfully, his skin glistening and flushed pink, practically purring with every snap of Steve’s hips. His eyes are heavily lidded, one hand stroking himself, the other holding onto his leg, keeping himself open for Steve to drive into.

“Never want to stop fucking you,” Steve murmurs, then seals their lips in a sloppy kiss. He sucks on Billy’s tongue, swallowing every whimper and moan that tumbles out of him. “I don’t think I’d ever get sick of seeing you like this.”

The admission slips from his lips involuntarily, but it’s the truth. Steve feels worn out, the desperate frenzy crawling underneath his skin beginning to wind down.

But he wants to watch Billy fall apart one last time, wants to wrap himself up in the sight and the sound and the feeling of it, burn it into his mind so he can hold onto it for as long as his memory will allow.

“Steve, please, don’t stop,” Billy begs, hooking his leg over Steve’s thighs so they can roll their hips together.

The moment feels incredibly intimate, his arms full of Billy, their gasps and moans mingling as they move in tandem. Steve slides one arm under Billy, winding around his chest and holding him close. His other hand moves to join the one Billy has stroking over his cock. He feels Billy begin to stiffen in his grip, sweet mewls spilling from his lips.

“You close, baby?” Steve asks, his voice nothing more than a breathy whisper.

Billy whimpers, nodding. “So fucking close, sweetheart. You’re so fucking deep, I don’t - Jesus _fuck_ , do that again, Steve, _please_.”

Steve rolls his hips at the same sharp angle, feeling the head of his cock catch against Billy’s prostate. He does it again, and again, and again until Billy is babbling incoherently, grinding his hips down onto Steve’s length until he has him buried balls-deep. He’s working his length furiously, every muscle in his body seeming to clench as he searches for his release.

“I’ve got you, baby, you’re almost there,” Steve encourages, feeling his own need for release mounting. Every time the tight heat wrapped around him spasms he’s driven closer and closer to the edge. “Just let it happen, Billy, it’s okay.”

“I need it, Stevie, I’m so fuckin’ close but I can’t - it just won’t -” Billy stutters, practically vibrating out of his own skin as he rides the wave.

“I’ll take care of you, come here,” Steve murmurs, slipping out of Billy and rolling him onto his back. The other boy actually yelps in protest, crying out at the loss.

But then Steve is pinning Billy’s legs over his head, driving himself back into the other boy with a hard thrust. It’s an odd angle, with Billy nearly folded in half, but it allows Steve to easily stroke Billy’s cock while pounding into him.

It has Billy gasping for breath and crying out, his tight ring of muscle clenching tighter and tighter. Steve can feel him stiffening in his hand, so he tightens his grip, milking his cock.

“Baby, fuck, I can’t - feels so fucking - I’m gonna fucking cum, don’t stop, don’t stop, _please don’t ever fucking stop_ ,” Billy is begging wildly, and then he sobs out Steve’s name, his body going taut as he topples over the edge, his orgasm hitting him like a ton of bricks.

He only gets louder as Steve continues to fuck him through it, but it’s music to Steve’s ears. Billy cums in thick spurts, and Steve watches as it splatters onto his chest and neck, some even making it into his open mouth and the thick fringe of his eyelashes. It’s a glorious sight, and it has Steve chasing his own release.

Billy’s body twitches with every subsequent thrust of Steve’s hips, hypersensitive and wrung out. But he takes it like a champ, letting Steve fuck his spent hole furiously, until he’s stiffening inside of him.

“That’s it, princess,” Billy hums sweetly, letting Steve tuck himself into his neck. He cards his fingers through Steve’s hair as he lays back against the pillows, sated and thoroughly fucked out. “Fill me up one last time, c’mon.”

“I - fuck, I’m almost there,” Steve whines, his hands gripping Billy’s thighs as he thrusts into him.

Billy pops a finger into his mouth, slicking it up, before gently slipping it into the cleft of Steve’s ass. Then, he’s gently sinking the finger inside Steve, easily finding his prostate in a way that screams _expert_.

All the air rushes from Steve’s lungs as he cums, his hips stuttering erratically. Steve doesn’t make a sound for a long stretch, his voice seemingly caught up in his throat. But then he’s gasping out Billy’s name, pulling out of him and moving to pump the last few ropes of cum into the other boy’s open mouth.

Steve watches Billy swallow it all down easily, even licking his fucking lips afterwards like he’d been given a tasty little treat.

If Steve’s dick weren’t softening so rapidly, he probably would’ve slipped himself into Billy’s mouth and let the boy clean him off with soft strokes of his tongue. Instead, he lets his delirious mind guide him, settling himself back between Billy’s legs, hooking them over his shoulders.

“What’re you - _oh_ ,” Billy breathes, watching Steve eagerly lick up the cum leaking from his hole with wide eyes.

Billy’s eyes never leave him as Steve continues to dip his tongue between his spread cheeks, lazily lapping up the steady stream dripping from his entrance, often letting his tongue sink inside in search of more.

Steve finally doesn’t feel like he’s burning up, the arousal no longer suffocating him. He’s satiated and relaxed, taking his time cleaning Billy up.

Eventually, there’s nothing left for his mouth to mop up, so Steve rolls off of the other boy and onto his back, sighing happily. He basks in the afterglow, eyelids fluttering shut. The clock ticking on his wall is the only sound that fills the room, lulling Steve into a comfortable doze.

He doesn’t know how long they lay there, resting quietly. Eventually, he feels the bed shift, hearing Billy get up and begin to shuffle around. Steve’s eyes blink open slowly. “Where’re you goin’?” he asks groggily, watching Billy start to get dressed with sleepy eyes.

“Uh, home?” Billy tells him, but it comes out as more of a question.

Pouting, Steve pats the empty space next to him on his bed. “Stay.”

Billy pauses, watching him warily. He almost looks a small animal being cornered by a predator, caged in with nowhere to run. “You want me to stay over. With you.” His voice is apprehensive. “What, you want to cuddle or some shit?”

“I mean, yeah,” Steve says with a shrug, tucking his hands underneath his pillow, practically nuzzling into it. “That’d be nice.”

“Very funny, Harrington,” Billy snorts, rolling his eyes. He moves to finish tugging on his jeans, and Steve frowns.

“Don’t call me that,” he pouts, the frown continuing to tug on his lips. “I’m serious. I don’t want you to go.”

This time, Billy turns towards him fully, peering at him like he’s an alien. Steve doesn’t like the look Billy is giving him, almost like he’s on high alert, waiting for the punchline.

It makes Steve want to cover his face in soft, sweet kisses until the look is gone for good. And yes, Steve has always been a sucker for intimacy, letting the heat and passion he shares with his lovers guide his emotions. The fact that it’s no different with Billy really doesn’t come as a surprise.

“Okay, _Steve_ , ‘s really not funny, alright?” Billy tells him, his voice carefully guarded.

Steve huffs out an exasperated sigh, smacking a hand onto his pillow and shoving himself upright. He glowers at Billy, and says, “I’m really not fucking joking, _Billy_. Christ. We just spent the last few hours fucking each other senseless, and you’re surprised that I want you to _stay_?”

The other boy’s face takes on a bright red hue. “We hate each other. It was just an arrangement, remember? Some shit we had to do to help each other out.”

“Look, I liked it, okay?” Steve snaps, frustrated that Billy _still_ doesn’t fucking get it. “I liked fucking you. I want to do it again, and again, and again. I want to give that magic dust a run for its fucking money by showing you how good I can fuck you without it, so quit being so goddamn difficult and get in the fucking bed.”

Dumbfounded, Billy just stands there, his mouth hanging open. It would honestly be really fucking cute, if Steve weren’t so frustrated. “But you…you’re not even queer.”

“Oh my god, I literally had my dick fully inserted inside your asshole not even an hour ago,” Steve huffs, rolling his eyes, “you literally watched me eat my cum out of your ass. So maybe my queerness is up for debate, alright? Jesus. And just for the record, I don’t hate you.”

“You’re a bad liar, Harrington,” Billy says, but he sounds nervous, and Steve watches his Adam's apple bob in his throat.

“Maybe I’ve spent so long trying to convince myself that I hate you that I forgot why I even started trying in the first place,” Steve tells him, shrugging. “Maybe I’m sick of it, the pretending.”

“Pretending,” Billy repeats slowly, his brows drawing together. “Why would you…”

“Sometimes I spend so much time lying to everyone, I forget what the truth is,” Steve admits, biting his lip and looking down at his hands. “It's easier that way, I guess.”

There’s a beat of silence before he feels the bed dip down, Billy seating himself in the empty space next to Steve, careful to leave a healthy distance between them. “You should hate me,” the other boy says quietly.

“Yeah, well,” Steve sighs, “there’s a lot of things I should do. Doesn’t mean I ever do 'em.”

There’s a long stretch of silence, and then, almost inaudibly, “I'm, uh. I'm gay.”

“Uh, yeah, I kind of caught on to that,” Steve tells him with a laugh, looking up to give him a small smile. “It’s okay. You don’t have to pretend around me.”

“My dad,” Billy starts, his eyes darkening, “if he, uh, if he ever found out, he’d…I don't know, probably actually fuckin' kill me. Pretending’s all I do.”

Steve reaches out a hand hesitantly, and when Billy doesn’t pull away, he rests his fingers delicately over his palm, stroking the skin there absentmindedly. “You don’t have to think about it right now. Just…stay here tonight, with me. We can figure the rest out later.”

It feels like a tremendous victory when Billy finally nods, standing to strip back down to his boxers before sliding into the bed next to Steve. They lay there for a while, just looking at each other, the brush of their pinky fingers the only point of contact. Then, Steve shimmies closer, curling into Billy’s chest.

“You’re covered in dry cum, Steve. And these sheets are disgusting,” Billy comments, threading his fingers into Steve’s hair, massaging his scalp.

“Don’t care,” Steve hums, leaning into the touch of Billy’s hand.

Billy huffs out a laugh, kissing the top of his head. “Alright, princess. Up and at ‘em. I’ll run us a bath.”

As much as Steve doesn’t want to move, the offer is very appealing, especially with the way his skin is starting to itch. He doesn’t argue when Billy gets up and heads into his bathroom, just watches him with drowsy eyes instead, stretching lazily.

Maybe it isn’t so hard to face the truth after all, Steve thinks. Maybe all it takes is a little push. And a whole lot of fucking, of course. He hopes there’ll be a lot of that in their future, however long it takes for them to get there.

But until then, he’ll just ride the ride, perfectly content to see where it takes him.

**Author's Note:**

> so anyway, there it is i guess??? i hope this was as enjoyable to read as it was to write. and ofc as per usual, all feedback is welcome and wanted!! and you can find me on tumblr at [hartigays](https://hartigays.tumblr.com/), feel free to come scream with me about whatever.


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